The Magic Life of Walter Mitty
by HiBob
Summary: Stand aside Harry Potter, Quake in fear You-Know Who. The most powerful wizard in the world is here. If he would only pay attention.


The Magic Life of Walter Mitty

  


Written by HiBob

  


Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters. James Thurber owns the character of Walter Mitty. The Internal Revenue Service owns my posterior.

  
  


***

  


"IMMOBILUS," shouted the hooded snakelike figure. Instantly, a binding curse flew from the end of his wand. It struck the attacking figure of the young Harry Potter, paralyzing him completely.

"So, it is the Boy-Who-Lived," sneered Lord Voldemort. "I know you thought to defeat me and, now that I have beaten you, you are expecting a quick death. But, no, no, no," Voldemort laughed, "your death will be slow and painful as you watch everyone around you, everyone you love, die in front of you, one by one."

"NOT SO FAST," shouted a voice from the edge of the forest. "You forgot about me."

A young boy of about twelve years of age, with mousy brown hair, entered the glade which had become this battlefield of magic. He pushed his long hair away from his normally brown eyes. (They had been magically changed to green for this occasion, in honor of his mentor and friend.)

"I intend to make you regret ever being born," the boy said holding his wand in front of him.

Turning toward his new adversary, the Dark Lord smiled. "I do believe it is little Walter Mitty. I am SO afraid." Then he said suddenly, "Expelliremus," and the wand flew out of Walter's hand, landing yards behind his nemesis.

"If you want to go get it, I'll wait for you here," Voldemort jeered.

"There is no need," said Mitty with complete confidence. "Expelliremus," he called in turn, and Voldemort's wand went sailing through the air, landing amongst the trees behind Walter. "Now we are even, you evil dark lord. Prepare to die!"

Voldemort turned pale. "Oh my God," he cried, "I didn't know you were a super-wizard." The Dark Lord fell to his knees weeping and begging, "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything, just don't kill me, please, please.PLEASE."

Walter Mitty smirked. "I won't kill you," he said, "even though you are a slimy snake, but I think you would look better as a toad." He shouted,"FROGUS RIBITUS," and the dark lord began to shrink and change.

"Yes," said Mitty, "you look a lot better now." He stroked the toad, as though a favorite pet, and listened to the throb of the magical forces as they faded into the early dawn

  
  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  
  


went the sound of his hand as the potions professor tapped on Walter Mitty's desk. "If you keep handling that dried toad you will crumble all of it to powder," Snape said in an agitated voice, low but still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Walter looked up carefully at Snape's angry face. "I'm sorry, Professor. I was trying to remember how much dried toad I needed for the potion."

Snape raised his voice slightly. "If you had been listening you would have known that the potion doesn't get any dried toad."

"I'm sorry, Professor," said the embarrassed boy. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Snape stepped back in mock surprise, saying, "Walter, that is indeed a very good guess. Ten points for Gryffindor for that excellent guess. And Twenty-Five points from Gryffindor for being absolutely correct," he added in his angriest voice. "You might as well start cleaning up. Dumbledore wants to see you after this class and neither he nor I would be upset if you were early." As the professor turned around he made sure that every student had heard every word.

Walter Mitty gathered his books together, and proceeded to the Headmaster's office. As he walked he listened to the sounds of the trees outside, the wind causing their branches to brush and scrape against the building

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went the rustle of the phoenix as it settled on the file cabinet against the wall of the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore looked across the desk at the young Walter Mitty, a gleam in his eye.

"Of course you are bored with your classes, Walter. With your degree of intelligence all these classes are too elementary. Let us see if any of our fifth or sixth year classes are good enough to challenge you."

Dumbledore waved his wand and a large book appeared on the desk in front of him. As he opened the book he told Walter, "We would hate to lose you because we were not good enough for you."

The soft sound of turning pages filled the room

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


As Dumbledore looked through the book before him.

"It appears to me, Master Mitty, that you have set the record for the lowest grades of any first year and still passed, and from what I have been told by your teachers, you are barely squeaking by this year." The headmaster looked over to Walter. "You are paying attention, aren't you?"

The boy looked up as though startled. "I'm sorry, Sir. I mean Yes, Sir. You said I squeak, Sir."

Dumbledore rolled his eyes and muttered a few words to himself.

"Yes you do, boy, and quite loudly. Please stop it."

Walter nodded.

"Also," Dumbledore continued, trying to keep a straight face at the boy's serious demeanor, "you grades are not good. Particularly your grade in Potions. I have asked Hermione Granger, a fifth year in your house, to tutor you after lunch today and for everyday you have Professor Snape's class. You do know Miss Granger, don't you?"

Walter looked confused. "I'm sorry, Sir. I guess I do, Sir. I don't remember, Sir. I probably do, Sir."

Dumbledore looked at him. "Don't worry, Walter. She knows you. Just wait in the common room for her. Is that all right with you?"

The boy nodded. When Dumbledore dismissed him, Mitty left the office to go to the Great Hall for lunch. As he walked down the long hallways he tapped his hand against the wall in a monotone beat

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went the claws of the three great beasts as they scraped across the floor of the Great Hall. Students and teachers alike cowered in the farthest corners from the approaching dragons, all spells and charms useless against the magical beasts. This was the scene that Walter Mitty walked in on.

Realizing that he had only seconds to save everyone, Walter knew that his first task was to distract the monstrous beasts from their current path. Having come late to the hall he was behind the beasts and, to his advantage, the dragons had not noticed him. He pulled out his wand and softly said the word, "Lumos."

As the tip of his wand began to glow, Walter called loudly, in a taunting voice, to the hungry beasts in front of him. "Look at those lazy lizards. I've seen faster bugs crawling up the Whomping Willow."

Quickly these beasts turned, their eyes angrily gazing at young Mitty. Just as quickly, the boy began moving his wand back and forth like a pendulum in a slow and steady rhythm, the point still glowing. When he noticed the dragons were all watching his wand, Walter began to speak in a strong but soothing voice.

"You are getting tired. You are very, very tired. It is hard to stay awake. You are ASLEEP!"

At this point, all three dragons stopped in their tracks, frozen in a hypnotic trance. Walter continued speaking. "You like sleeping. This is a good time for a nap. But this hall is very uncomfortable. When I command you to awaken, you will decide to finish your naps on a sunny but remote mountaintop, and you will never think of coming to this school again. AWAKEN!"

When Walter shouted this last command, the dragons awoke. They looked around in disgust and walked past Mitty and out of the Great Hall. Once they had left the building they took wing and flew off, never to be seen again.

Everyone cheered at this and proceeded to congratulate Walter. Even the professors were fawning over him. It was only Walter's modesty that kept him from being overwhelmed by all of this. As the crowd began to drift away, one girl, a fifth year he then recognized as Hermione Granger, came up to thank him. He accepted her thanks, and her offer to walk back to the common room with him.

As they entered the Gryffindor common room, Walter asked Hermione, "Would you like to see the new book I've got? As you can tell, it was helpful in dealing with the dragons." He then showed her the book he was carrying, titled The Wizards Book of Really Difficult Magic. "I can help you with some of the arcane language," he added. He opened the book, and the pages fluttered in a rhythmical magical tone

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went Hermione's hand as she slapped the table. She was very irritated. "Walter," she said in exasperation, "this is not your Potions text book. This is not even a school book. This," she said with added emphasis, "is a muggle comic book. What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said an embarrassed Walter Mitty. "I didn't realize you wanted to start tutoring me right after lunch," he continued in a gradually fading voice, then added, "You can borrow it if you want to. It's really very good. I've got the entire series."

As she looked at his nervous smile, Hermione couldn't help but grin. "Thank you, Walter," she said almost cheerfully. "And why don't you get your book so we can get started."

After an hour or so, most of the time spent with Hermione asking Walter if he was paying attention, they called it a day. He thanked Hermione, then left for his Transfiguration class.

As he walked along, he stopped to look at the trophy case, his fingers idly tapping on his book

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went the sound of the handcarts coming down the hallway. Walter Mitty looked up to see Argus Filch leading a group of workmen.

"Hello, Walter," called Filch. "I know you were disappointed that none of your trophies or awards were on display, but there wasn't enough room. That is why we have to build a second case just for you. It will have to be larger, of course, but that will hopefully encourage the other students to try harder." As he began to walk away, Filch turned around. "Say, Mitty, why don't we see Dumbledore and pick up your latest award. Not everyone has won three Quidditch matches in one day, and singlehandedly at that."

As they walked down the hall toward the Headmaster's office, Walter could hear the workmen behind him cutting the planks of wood

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went the sound of the phoenix as it ruffled its feathers at Walter Mitty.

"Twice in one day," said an amused Dumbledore. "That is an accomplishment, even for you."

Dumbledore walked around his desk and sat down next to Walter. Putting a fatherly hand on the boy's shoulder, the headmaster handed him a journal.

"I know you have a tendency to daydream," he said in an even tone, "and I would like you to try something for me. Try writing them down, as though you were writing a story. I've talked to Professor Snape, and Severus has agreed to let you write for the two hours of your punishment. I believe you have an active imagination and you need only to find a use for it. Also," he added conspiratorially, "I would like to see what you have written. If that is fine with you."

Walter looked down at the journal, then at the quills and ink that Dumbledore was holding out to him. "Oh, thank you, Sir. Of course, Sir. I would be happy to, Sir," he said in a hurried voice, almost tripping over his words in an effort to get them out. His happiness and excitement were so evident that Dumbledore actually had to laugh.

"Well, go on then," Dumbledore urged. "You still have things to do yet today."

Walter gathered his new writing materials and left the office in a daze, barely hearing anything except the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs

  


. . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . . Pocketa . . .

  


went the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs from the headmaster's office. As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he heard Dumbledore call out to him.

"Mitty, you are our last hope. Please be careful."

"I am always careful, Headmaster," he responded.

"Then good luck to you, Walter," came Dumbledore's voice.

"We make our own luck. You taught me that, Albus," he replied. Then Walter Mitty turned around and, with a jaunty walk, went to meet his destiny.


End file.
